


strategic withdrawals and other conceits

by Medie



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks at the aisles teeming with teenagers, soccer moms, and so much stuff it looks like a bomb went off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strategic withdrawals and other conceits

**Author's Note:**

> blame this one on [](http://storydivagirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**storydivagirl**](http://storydivagirl.livejournal.com/), [](http://aj.livejournal.com/profile)[**aj**](http://aj.livejournal.com/) (who doesn't even _watch_ Heroes) and [](http://writerlibrarian.livejournal.com/profile)[**writerlibrarian**](http://writerlibrarian.livejournal.com/). [](http://aj.livejournal.com/profile)[**aj**](http://aj.livejournal.com/) introduced me to "Take your OTP to Target"&gt;, [](http://storydivagirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**storydivagirl**](http://storydivagirl.livejournal.com/) suggested I try Matt/Mohinder and [](http://writerlibrarian.livejournal.com/profile)[**writerlibrarian**](http://writerlibrarian.livejournal.com/) bought me for Sweet Charity. I'm late finishing that fic so I wrote this one as an IOU (I still have to finish the other *G*) There is no plot, you need no plot. *G*

It all had seemed so simple in the beginning; but then, most things do. It's how we get ourselves into the messes that we do. It all looks so very simple, then you try it, and all hell springs up out of a trap door in the floor. Hell's very inconvenient like that, hence it being hell and all.

And hell is definitely what Matt's facing. He looks at the aisles teeming with teenagers, soccer moms, and so much stuff it looks like a bomb went off. A pastel bomb with polka dot shrapnel. And discount tags.

Shit. They are so fucked. Sylar. The Company. _Bennet_. None of it compares to how fucked they are at this very moment.

Looking their situation in its ugly, terrifying face, Matt realizes it's time for a tough decision. He doesn't put it on Mohinder. This is his to do. He considers it, then sucks in a fortifying breath, squares his shoulders, and turns to leave. If he's quick enough, he's still got a chance to run like hell. He can be in the car and headed out of the parking lot in a couple minutes. Yes, this makes him the biggest baby _ever_, but it's not like that's a _bad_ thing, right?

Shut up. It does _not_.

The pressure of Mohinder's hand on his arm crushes all hope of a quick, easy escape. The bastard. Disgustingly-gorgeous, charming, persuasive bastard. Matt doesn't look. He doesn't. He refuses.

He lasts a whole five seconds. It's a long five seconds.

It _is_.

He looks. Mohinder's watching him with 'that 'look' on his face. He hates that look. That's the look that gets him in trouble. In fact, he's sure he can trace most of his bad decisions back to 'that look' if he tries hard enough. It's pretty much par for the course now.

Mohinder wants something, Matt says no, then Mohinder breaks it out and Matt's willing to do almost anything. Rearrange furniture on his day off, shlep his way through five stores to find the right spices for dinner, let Mohinder run off on some damn foolish mission to save the world. At least their small corner of it.

Yeah, Matt hates that look. He'd hate Mohinder too if he didn't love him so damn much. Which he does. So much that it hurts. Which, yeah, you see? The _bastard_.

Mohinder slides his hand down Matt's arm, his fingers curling around Matt's and squeezing gently. "We're not leaving."

"I wasn't leaving!" says Matt, wincing at the defensive edge on his voice. "I was not." God, considering his dad could lie to the devil, Matt should be better at it than he is. The amused disbelief in Mohinder's eyes is testament to that one. Matt loves him, but there are days he's convinced that Mohinder's picture is in the dictionary under gullible. It's embarrassingly easy to lie to the man sometimes. "I just – I think I forgot my keys in the car."

That gets him another one of Mohinder's grins. "While I admit this might have been a little ill-advised – "

Matt shakes his head. "No, Mohinder, the Bay of Pigs was a little ill-advised. _This_ is a total disaster." The sharp look from a passing employee cautions him to lower his voice because, yes, he's a cop. Cops don't freak out in Target. Certainly not for stuff like this. "What the hell were we thinking?"

"We were thinking about planning a birthday party," says Mohinder. This time his smile is that blinding, all-is-right-with-the-world one that makes angels sing and puppies fart rainbows. No, really. Actual rainbows, but no pot of gold at the end. Trust me on this. "Just a birthday party."

With a snort, Matt starts forward into the store. He passes two aisles before he realizes. He's passively scanning, seeking out any potential threats. He's in a _Target_ for God's sake. On the other hand, two aisles away two mothers (one of which comes complete with a screaming toddler accessory) are giving each other threatening looks over a bin of marked down socks. He eases away and looks back at Mohinder. "We are not planning a birthday party, Mohinder. We are sandbagging. A week from now, our apartment will be assaulted by fifteen preteen girls. _Preteens_. Do you know what that means?"

Obviously fighting back laughter, Mohinder's doing a bad job of keeping his expression neutral. "It will be somewhat crowded?"

"It means we will be outnumbered two-to-one by a Hannah Montana-crazed strike force." Matt thinks about that for a second and a little part of his soul dies. He takes a breath to steady himself and keeps on going. "Does Target sell alcohol? It's been years since I shopped in one and we're going to need lots of it." He looks around, only half-pretending oto be looking for the liquor counter.

Mohinder shakes his head. "Matt..."

"Seriously, Mohinder," cautions Matt. He reaches out, catching hold of Mohinder's fingers to pull him closer. He only hesitates a moment, but he's made bold by the lack of attention. He hears one shocked _Are those boys – _ from an older man behind Mohinder, but ignores it. "When that party is over? You and I are going to get very drunk."

"You're being ridiculous, Matt," says Mohinder. "Molly's friends are hardly going to be that much trouble."

And there he went with the underestimating again. Matt's not exactly a fatalist, but next to Mohinder he vaguely resembles one. Which, considering Mohinder's annoying propensity for landing himself in the middle of near-disasters with alarming regularity, is pretty damn mystifying.

"Don't count on it," he says, grinning. "And yeah, I'm being completely ridiculous, but I've got good reason. We are shopping for our daughter who needs a birthday party, a birthday present, and new jeans since she's having _another_ growth spurt and has grown out of the last ones we bought her. If that doesn't entitle me to a little bit of ridiculous, I don't want to know what will."

"Perhaps not," says Mohinder. He licks his bottom lip, biting it for a moment as he thinks. For a moment, Matt catches a hint of the to-do list flying through Mohinder's head, but then Mohinder does it again. His teeth linger a second longer on his lip this time and Matt groans. It's totally not fair and Mohinder knows it. He knows what it does to Matt and he's enjoying it. The images that flick through his mind make Matt cough and step back. Getting thrown out of Target for public indecency (because there's no way what Mohinder's picturing isn't) isn't exactly how he wants to tell the guys at the station about Mohinder.

Not that he's so he interested in telling them at all. He's learned his lesson on that front. Janice and Tom drove it home. Friends at work stay at work. Friends stay at work and dirty thoughts stay in Mohinder's head. At least until they get home and _not_ in a Target. He thinks of that list again and groans.

They are so never getting out of here.

"Stop that," he says, shaking his head at Mohinder.

"Stop what?" asks Mohinder, quickly innocent. Oh, this is going to be hell. Okay. So this is going to be more hell than it already is. Matt is so _not_ a shopper and Mohinder is grinning at him. He catches a glimpse at the thoughts behind the grin and blushes.

"That is _not_ what dressing rooms are for!" Swinging around, Matt grabs the nearest cart and starts pushing.

Next year, it's a family dinner and – "Hey!" says Matt, stopping at a bin. "Socks!"


End file.
